


In the Light of the Moon

by lesbianlyndis



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Boys Kissing, Dreams and Nightmares, First Kiss, Kissing, Late at Night, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianlyndis/pseuds/lesbianlyndis
Summary: Lyon has a nightmare about the future. He seeks out Ephraim.





	In the Light of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> theres.. nowhere near enough ephlyon on this site.. or any site..

A dark mist, a settling fog, in both the air and Lyon’s mind. The smell of blood and despair reach his nose, but he stays where he stands. A flash of blue catches his attention, and he turns to see Ephraim before him.

The glint in Ephraim’s gaze pierces through him like a lance, cutting him into pieces. It’s as though Ephraim can’t recognize him; the horror and disgust in his eyes would be more suited directed toward a monster instead of his lifelong friend.

Lyon attempts to speak, but he finds that he cannot; he cannot even will his mouth to move. Despite this, he sees his arms lift up, one hand holding a tome, the other with its palm facing Ephraim, but these are not his actions. When magic--a swirling, purple magic that Lyon has never seen nor read about before--encircles Ephraim, Lyon wishes to avert his gaze, unable to watch his friend’s pain, but whatever is controlling him refuses, forcing Lyon to unblinkingly watch as his friend crumples to the ground by his own hand, almost as though it wants Lyon to suffer as well.

Ephraim drops to his knees, blood-crusted hair sticking to his bloodied face, his eyes glazing over as he takes one last, now saddened look at Lyon before collapsing fully.

As Ephraim hits the ground, Lyon bursts awake, taking seconds to gain his bearings, realizing only as his eyes land on familiar surroundings that he was dreaming. He looks at his hands--tomeless, twisted in the sheets of his bed--and lifts them, clenching and unclenching them before his face; he’s in control. It was just a nightmare.

Moonlight streams in behind the pale curtains of the open window at the side of the bed. It’s a warm night, but Lyon shivers violently. Quickly, he rises, stumbling toward the door to make his way down the hallway, to Ephraim’s room.

Thankfully, he’s staying at Ephraim and Eirika’s castle while his father is visiting for a meeting, so he can easily calm his troubled mind by seeing his friend’s well-being with his own eyes. His hand guides him as he walks, tracing the cold stone walls as he finds his way through the familiar castle. Soon, the texture beneath his palm changes as he comes upon the fine wooden door of Ephraim’s room. Not wishing to disturb the sleeping brother, Lyon pushes the door open slowly, only enough for him to peak inside.

To his relief, Ephraim is unharmed, peacefully snoozing away, the movements of his breathing visible to Lyon even from the doorway. The prince is sleeping splayed across the bed in a peculiar position, something Lyon is accustomed to seeing from his friend, as Ephraim always was a chaotic sleeper. Allowing himself to relax, Lyon lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He almost feels foolish, believing a nightmare could have any effect on reality. But still, there was no harm in reassuring his night-driven paranoia.

It’s as he’s idling in the doorway that Ephraim stirs, sensing Lyon’s stare. Immediately, he spots Lyon in the slim opening of the door, tensing momentarily before recognition dawns.

“Lyon?” Ephraim’s questioning, tired voice calls out.

Lyon jumps, too lost in thought to realize that Ephraim had awoken. “I-I’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking a step into the room, the door swinging to the side, “for waking you.”

Sitting up, Ephraim yawns, blinking tiredly at Lyon. “It’s OK.” He watches as Lyon, who’s trying to think of an excuse as to why he’s here, shuffles awkwardly at the entrance. “Is something the matter?”

Lyon’s gaze turns toward him, wide-eyed like a doe. The door to the balcony was left open, as it often is on summer nights like this, allowing the light from the full moon to shine on Lyon’s bright eyes.

Wordlessly, Ephraim beckons for him to come closer, and Lyon does so, stopping in front of him.

“What’s on your mind, Lyon?” Ephraim scoots toward the edge of his bed, sitting cross-legged in front of him, the blankets being pulled along.

Lyon hesitates. “I just…” he starts, ducking his head “...wanted to make sure you were OK.” A pause. “I had a dream--a nightmare--and I wanted to…” He trails off, face hidden behind his long hair.

Thoughtlessly, Ephraim brushes the straying strands out of his friend's face to appraise his expression. Timid. Embarrassed. Very clearly rattled. “What happened to me?” he asks, hand returning to his lap. “In your dream.”

Silence meets him, then Lyon shakes his head. “I apologize for being so childish. I won’t bother you any further--”

“You aren't being childish,” Ephraim cuts him off. Then, softer, “And you aren’t a bother. Sit down.” He pats the space next to him on the bed.

Hesitation, a rustling in the curtains. The moonlight dances on Lyon’s face, a mesmerizing waltz from cheek to cheek. “I don't wish to talk about it.”

“You don't have to.” He tugs on Lyon’s arm. “But I’m not going to let you leave with that look on your face.”

Lyon holds his gaze, contemplating, before he concedes, seating himself where offered.

Ephraim takes him in, glancing up and down his form almost calculatingly. He sighs inaudibly, his eyes now on the door that Lyon had left open, unfocused. “Eirika has bad dreams all the time, though not as often as she used to.” He shifts his legs, switching which one is on top. “But I’m used to her creeping in here and telling me all about whatever’s got her troubled. So don’t feel childish.”

Lyon doesn't respond, but he's receptive of Ephraim’s words.

Moments pass. Neither of them make a sound. Crickets sing their summer lullabies from the world beyond the balcony, carried inside with the breeze, the curtains dancing to their melody.

It’s Lyon who breaks their peaceful silence. “Do you ever have nightmares, Ephraim?” The question is spoken quietly; Ephraim almost doesn't hear it.

“No,” he admits. “I hardly ever dream at all.”

Lyon nods, amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth. “That seems very like you.” They now face each other on the edge of the bed, both cross-legged, Lyon looking down at his fidgeting hands, Ephraim intently watching him. “You’re so grounded in what is real. Fantasies could scarcely bother you.”

Ephraim frowns, easily detecting what lies beneath his friend’s words--a thin layer of jealousy. He has not the eloquence to soothe Lyon’s insecurities, despite how much he wishes to dispel them with simple reassurance--a caring touch, some soft-spoken words. Lyon isn't so easy, and Ephraim isn't so skilled.

He chooses a different approach, one that hasn't failed him yet tonight--distraction. “What sort of things do you usually dream about?”

Pale eyes blink at him. The fluttering of his lashes takes hold of Ephraim’s attention; Lyon has always had, in Ephraim’s opinion, such absurdly long lashes, and now, drenched in moonlight, they’re even more captivating, appearing nearly white in color. With his focus misdirected, he almost doesn't hear Lyon’s response.

“Just mundane things…” He pulls strands of hair behind his ear. “Usually they're inseparable from reality, besides a few bizarre… details. The other night, I had a dream that--” he bites his lip to hold back a smile “--I was helping you study, but you weren't interested--”

“Unsurprisingly,” Ephraim says, grinning.

“--and suddenly, we weren't in the library any more but on the training grounds. Except I think the desk was still there. And you speared the books straight through.” Lyon shakes his head. “I wasn't pleased with that at all.”

Ephraim snorts. “That doesn't sound like a bad idea.”

Shooting him a disapproving look, Lyon sighs, “Ephraim, please.”

Ephraim laughs, a pleasant sound that echoes off the walls of the room. “Sorry, sorry.” Though he doesn’t sound the least bit repentant.

Lyon rolls his eyes in response, but he’s smiling, much to Ephraim’s relief. They share a brief moment of quiet, comforted by each other’s presence. As Lyon’s smile lingers, though he no longer looks to Ephraim, Ephraim realizes he doesn’t want Lyon to leave. Being with Lyon is like truly being at home, a feeling he can never find during the prince of Grado’s lengthy absences.

As though the tides of fate move away from Ephraim, Lyon begins his departure. Rising from beside him, Lyon says, “I should head back to bed. Thank you, Ephraim. Truly.” There’s sincerity on his face as his gaze grazes over him before he turns away, toward the door.

Disappointment clouds Ephraim’s expression, a sudden sadness that Lyon misses. Unspoken words catch in his throat, his hand lifting as Lyon does, magnetized. “You--” He swallows. “You don't have to leave.”

Lyon pauses, looking back at his friend. “Pardon?”

“You could stay here,” Ephraim pushes. “For the night. So you don't have to be alone.” Half-truths fall from his tongue in place of what he cannot say.  _ ‘I want you to stay. I want to be with you longer--as long as fate will allow me.’ _

Lyon frowns. “You don't have to baby me, Ephraim.”

“I’m n--” He stops, takes a breath. Gently, almost pleadingly, he says, “Stay here tonight, Lyon. It would ease my own mind as well.” Steps closer to the truth, still hidden beneath his stare.

Lyon shifts before him, fresh embarrassment budding on his face. “I’ll be fine,” he says. Mere seconds later, however, he gives in. “But… if that’s what you desire, then…”

It’s awkward at first, Ephraim sliding to the other side of his spacious bed, Lyon slowly, tentatively lying down in the open space beside him, keeping himself close to the edge. As Lyon rests his head on one of the pillows, he’s overwhelmed by Ephraim’s scent. It surrounds him, as though they were pressed against each other. He feels his face heat up, thankful that the darkness hides it.

They hadn’t slept in the same bed since they were young boys; it’s a foreign yet familiar feeling, like returning to a school from childhood. Ephraim kicks the blankets to the foot of the bed, as they are too hot to use. He faces the balcony as he settles in to sleep. Lyon watches the breathing movements of his back, mesmerized by how clear his muscles are even through his nightwear. Beyond that, he finds the motions calming, not only as a rhythm but as a reminder that Ephraim is fine and his dream was just that--a dream.

Lyon doesn't know how long they lay like that, but he finds himself unable to sleep, images of his nightmare flashing behind his eyelids.

“Ephraim?” he mumbles, slicing through the dark.

“Mm?”

He lets the patient silence ripen, taking his time before continuing. “Can I ask you something?”

Ephraim shifts, tremors of movement, like rolling clouds against the nighttime sky. He faces Lyon now, his cheek resting on his arm, his tired, blue eyes dim in the shadows. “Anything.”

A sudden chill comes over Lyon, locked in Ephraim's stare. “Is…” He loses his voice beneath the sheets. “Is there anything that you fear?”

Ephraim’s expression is indiscernible in the dark. “That I fear?”

Lyon waits, expectant.

Fear. Ephraim doesn't dwell on such a thing. He takes life as it’s thrown at him, without worry or trepidation. In contradiction, he knows how Lyon is, his mind his best and worst asset, letting it get the best of him more times than not.

Though the words sit on his tongue, Ephraim finds himself unable to utter them. “You won't like the answer,” he says instead.

Lyons breaks eye contact. He already knew.

Ephraim’s gaze flickers from one of Lyon’s downturned eyes to the other, searching, waiting, sensing that his friend has more to say.

His thoughts simmer in his head. “I fear,” Lyon speaks up once more, “that in our future, we might not be able to live as we do now.” A pause, a lull in the wind. “At peace with each other. I fear the possibility of our kingdoms turning against each other, and--” his voice cracks, crumbling “--in turn, we'd--”

“Lyon,” Ephraim cuts him off. “Our kingdoms… No matter where our future takes us,” he says slowly, placing his hand on the side of Lyon’s head, smoothing down his hair, “there's  _ nothing _ that could ever turn me against you.”

Out of surprise, Lyon laughs, a single, choked sound. Ephraim’s chest tightens at the sight, wishing for all he's worth to find the words to say, but he cannot.

“Oh, Ephraim,” Lyon sighs sadly, “I am jealous of you even now.”

His words pierce Ephraim’s heart like daggers. “Lyon…”

A gentle breeze comes from the open balcony, shifting the curtains and the moonlight against Lyon’s face, moving it so it rests on his cheek, kissing at the corner of his mouth. Ephraim’s eyes are locked there, his stare unbreakable by even himself as he becomes fixated on the curve of Lyon’s lips. Maybe it's the ache in his chest, the hole in his body Lyon has carved out of him, but something takes ahold of Ephraim. Subconsciously, his hand follows his gaze, moving to rest on Lyon’s cheek, his thumb against his lower lip.

Lyon’s eyes are on him once again, wide and curious as he stares at Ephraim imploringly. “What are you…” he whispers, his voice stolen from him.

The way Lyon’s lips feel as he speaks is pleasant, to say the least, like waves beneath Ephraim’s thumb. Honestly, he answers, his voice as quiet and airy as Lyon’s, “I don’t know.”

Ephraim waits for a response--a rejection, a retreat, a retort. Nothing comes. Lyon only watches, waits, as Ephraim’s thumb trails down to the bottom of his lip, his hand cupping his chin, tipping it up. The air between them becomes thick with anticipation. It’s now, as Lyon’s eyes flicker down to his lips, lingering there, when Ephraim realizes foolishly late the love, the desire he holds for his dearest friend.

“ _ Lyon _ ,” he whispers, a painful yearning in his voice, a shot in the dark.

The hand drifting at his elbow squeezes him in response.

Like the ocean reaches for the moon, so does Ephraim reach for Lyon, diminishing the space between them until he’s a single breath away. Lyon’s lips quiver, a nervous invitation, an alluring sweetness. Neither of them know what they're doing as Ephraim closes the gap entirely, capturing Lyon’s mouth with his own, affirming the hold he has on his heart.

As they collide, Lyon grasps Ephraim tighter, hand slipping around his bicep. Ephraim’s own falls from Lyon’s face, tracing over his jaw, down his neck, across his chest, finding its way around his side, pulling Lyon until he's flush against him.

“ _ Ephraim _ ,” Lyon mumbles against his persistent mouth.

They kiss slowly, unhindered by their untrained lips, breathing into each other, holding each other as though bound in orbit.

When Lyon’s eyes slip open, he sees Ephraim in pure bliss, eyes closed as he tenderly caresses Lyon, gently kissing him again and again and again. Lyon’s brain is melted, this night full of dreams that he could have never expected rendering him mindless, one dream too frightful to speak of, another that he can't even put into words. Every kiss Ephraim plants on his moonstruck mouth leaves him breathless, choking on air and shock, his insides wrapped around each other as he goes through a tumult of emotions.

The boy he envies, kissing him like he was desirable… The friend he cherishes, touching him like friends shouldn't…

Some semblance of sense reenters his mind. “Ephraim,” he whispers again, though with different intention. His hands press firmly against Ephraim’s shoulders, holding his face inches from their target.

With lidded eyes, Ephraim looks to Lyon with an expression that sends shivers down his spine, an excited glean he has only seen in the midst of battle.

He swallows, lost for words in Ephraim’s grasp. Seconds pass before he regains himself, seconds that Ephraim uses to run his hands up and down Lyon’s back, slowly, meticulously, hungrily. “What are we doing?”

Ephraim laughs. His nose brushes against Lyon’s. “Don’t question it,” he whispers. “I want to kiss you some more.”

Lyon’s hold falters, allowing Ephraim to lean close to him again.

Upon doing so, he pauses centimeters from Lyon’s lips. “May I?”

Time stands still for Lyon, motionless, awestruck by Ephraim’s touch, Ephraim’s strikingly handsome face close to his own, Ephraim’s words, which Lyon can scarcely comprehend. He’s caught between two answers. One, a fool’s response; a resounding, gleeful  _ yes, _ an eager pull of Ephraim’s silk collar. The other one of caution, of not letting their bodies get too far ahead of their heads.

“Kiss me,” he says instead, a compromise, “until you're satisfied.”

Ephraim smiles, taking up Lyon’s offer immediately. “I never will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> it was sad writing this.. knowing what waits for them in their future..


End file.
